Better Than Drinking Alone
by pearlydewdrop
Summary: 'They're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone'. Tom is an Irish 'Piano Man'. Sybil is a waitress 'practicing politics'. What do they have in common?...They both long for a better life. This is a four chapter, Tom/Sybil 1970s AU, inspired by Billy Joel's timeless song 'Piano Man', with hints of Chelsie (Mr Carson/Mrs Hughes) and John/Anna. Enjoy!
1. Earth Angel

**Better Than Drinking Alone. **

._..._

_It's nine o'clock on a Saturday_

_The regular crowd shuffles in_

_There's an old man sitting next to me_

_Makin' love to his tonic and gin. _

_He says, "Son, can you play me a memory_

_I'm not really sure how it goes_

_But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete_

_When I wore a younger man's clothes"_

_~Billy Joel, Piano Man _

_..._

_..._

_The James Joyce Piano Bar _

_London _

_1975 _

_..._

Tom Branson glanced down at his wrist watch, a battered silver plated hand-me-down from a granduncle who still lived at home in Ireland.

Nine o'clock.

Less than thrilled at the prospect of the evening ahead, Tom knew that his older brother Kieran (the proud manager of 'The James Joyce Piano Bar') would have his arse if he didn't start getting ready for his shift soon.

The Irishman made his way across the bar and up the steps to the ancient looking grand piano that, frankly, had seen better days.

The half empty bar was quiet for a Saturday evening, slowly filling up with the regular crowd.

Unenthusiastically, Tom sat down and routinely stretched his fingers with a few arpeggios to start.

It wasn't that he loathed the job...in fact there had been a time when he absolutely loved it...

The buzz in the bar, the free drinks, the cloud of cigarette smoke and the endless wall of noise, the praise and respect that he got from customers and the opportunity to play the exciting new songs from bands like The Beatles and The Stones.

Night after night, Tom had been working in his brother's bar for nearly ten years. He had joined Kieran in London shortly after leaving the CBS on Synge Street and his home country right along with it...little by little, the thrill of an exciting London life had gone.

Casually, he glanced over the end of the piano, his eyes falling on an older man with balding silver hair, dark bushy eyebrows and a rather large nose.

The man had seated himself a few tables away from the small stage, just far enough away that he could hear the music without being bombarded by it...it was a fairly customary habit of the older crowd that fruquented the bar, in an attempt to stay clear of the large speaker Kieran had installed.

Tom recognised the man as Charles Carson, a porter who had been working in one of the fancier hotels in town since God knows how long...he was one of their regulars.

After catching Tom's eye, the older man looked purposefully away from him, his eyes never leaving a small black and white photograph in his wallet.

He sipped on the same gin and tonic that he had been nursing all evening...and when a single tear strolled down his cheek and Tom pretended not to notice, a formidable man like Mr Carson wouldn't like if he did.

Hardly a night had gone by in the last few months where Charles Carson hadn't made the pilgrimage into 'The James Joyce'.

Usually, he sat quietly at the same table that he and his wife had religiously occupied once a week ever since Tom could remember.

However all of that had changed when Elsie Carson passed away after a long and painful struggle with breast cancer...that was when Charles Carson's visits became all the more frequent.

"Alright, Mr Carson?", Tom called down, trying not to sound too concerned for the older man's welfare, least he insult him.

Carson looked up, feigning surprise at the attention. "I'm quite alright, Mr Branson", he answered a little too quickly, his solitary tear long since hastily wiped away.

They were awkwardly silent for a moment, and Tom decided to return to playing.

"Son, can you play me a memory?", Carson said, interrupting after a short while.

His voice had taken on a rather uncharacteristic tone of nostalgia, something that made Tom feel very sorry for him when he looked up from the piano keys to respond to the slightly odd request.

"I'm not really sure how it goes, but it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes."

Tom wasn't entirely sure what Carson meant by that, but nonetheless started playing 'Earth Angel' by The Penguins, a song he assumed would have been, at least, about the right vintage to adhere to the sixty something year old man's wishes.

Carson smiled contentedly as the song progressed on.

Afterwards as the final cadence wore out, he returned to his lonely drink and photograph with a grateful nod in Tom's general direction.

"Thank you, Mr Branson", he commended, his stiff upper lip firmly back in position. "I think my Elsie would have quite liked that."

_..._

_Sing us a song, you're the piano man_

_Sing us a song tonight_

_Well, we're all in the mood for a melody_

_And you've got us feelin' alright_

_..._

* * *

**A/N: Hiya guys! Hope you are having a really lovely weekend! Let me know what you think of this idea for an AU! There will be four chapters in total, each based off of a verse of Billy Joel's 'Piano Man'. **

**If you want to leave a review, I would absolutely love to hear from you! **

**Talk soon, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	2. Tiny Dancer

**Better Than Drinking Alone **

_..._

_Now Paul is a real estate novelist_

_Who never had time for a wife_

_And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy_

_And probably will be for life_

_..._

_..._

The James Joyce Piano Bar

London

1975

...

Amidst thick clouds of cigarette smoke, his fingers mindlessly found the chords for Elton John's 'Tiny Dancer' and he crooned the lyrics into the microphone, inhaling the strong scent of beer that it had retained over the years.

Beneath his fingers, the piano sounded like a carnival and Tom found himself getting lost, the notes washing over him like warm water, not thrilling like the used to be but...comforting...comfortable.

These were the parts of the job that Tom liked, the parts that kept him returning to the humdrum routine of playing in Kieran's grubby piano bar night after night.

There was something about being able to lift people's spirits when they were down, when they were lonely and when they were sad...and somehow, the music seemed to do just that. It released them from their troubles and help them to forget about their lives...if only for a while.

He was a decent enough pianist, Tom knew that himself.

However, despite the fleeting swell of pride that he felt whenever someone asked what a talented man like him was doing playing in a joint like this, Tom Branson knew that he didn't have the same magic in his fingertips that all of the lucky lads on the radio did.

Either way, he was content as long as he could do something to make the troubled soul's that came to the bar, night after night, happy...it wasn't wildest dream fulfilling stuff, but it was enough.

"Hello Tom", a voice from somewhere over his shoulder called out, pulling him from his reverie.

The woman was wearing a sharp business suit and an exhausted expression.

She tossed a handful of coins in the jar that had sat empty on the grand piano's closed lid all evening...his bread and butter for the week.

Somehow managing to keep his fingers doing what they were doing, Tom turned his head to face the kind smile of the town's real estate agent and aspiring writer, Anna Smith.

He gave her a grateful nod. "Any requests tonight, Anna?"

The blonde haired woman smiled in response, already heading across the room to where her usual drinking companion was seated and settling in for the night.

"Just play me something happy."

Tom smiled to himself as he watched her take a seat at the bar next to John Bates, another regular who Anna always shared a drink with at least a few times a week.

It was painfully obvious to whoever laid eyes on them, Tom included in that number, that Anna Smith and John Bates were hopelessly in love with each other...not that he, Tom, was anything even resembling a genius in that particular area...quite the contrary, really (...but more on that later).

On the surface Anna Smith and John Bates appeared to be a very mismatched pair.

John was a former Naval officer who had been dishonourably discharged after he had done irreparable damage to his left leg, an injury that had left him with a nasty limp and almost cost him his life.

For years, there had been dozens of crazy horror stories going around about how John had gotten hurt. Some were bizarre, some outrageous and some just downright disrespectful.

All of them had nothing in common except for the fact that they had supposedly come from Bates himself...Tom considered most of the stories complete and utter bullshit. After all, from the handful of occasions that he had actually spoken to John Bates, Tom had gauged him to be a relatively private man...a man who wouldn't have breathed a single word of his personal experiences if they really had been as horrific as people tended to believe.

However despite all of the guessing and speculating that went on, there would really only be one person who Tom would suspect of knowing the true story behind John Bates's past...that person was Anna Smith.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if that the blonde real estate agent seemed devoid of a troubled past herself.

It was there in the clouds behind her eyes, if one only looked close enough to see it.

But all of that seemed to go away when Anna was around John, the clouds cleared like cigarette smoke fleeing out of an open window and both of them were suddenly all hesitant and shy smiles... their dark pasts seeming far behind them.

As he finished with Elton's hit song, Tom glanced back over towards the bar in the general direction of John and Anna.

He spotted them as they quietly reached for one another, entwining their fingers. He smiled to himself at the intimate gesture, a gesture that he probably shouldn't have witnessed.

Either way, he was happy that there were two less lonely souls that night in 'The James Joyce'.

_..._

_It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday_

_And the manager gives me a smile_

_'Cause he knows that it's me they've been comin' to see_

_To forget about life for a while_

_And the piano, it sounds like a carnival_

_And the microphone smells like a beer_

_And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar_

_And say, "Man, what are you doin' here?"_

_..._

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading. Thanks to Chelsietx and AlexisRose84 for their reviews on the first chapter, I really appreciate it! **

**If anybody out there is liking this/hating this/loving this so far, let me know! I would love to hear from you! **

**Until next time, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	3. Bridge Over Troubled Water

**Better Than Drinking Alone **

_..._

_Now John at the bar is a friend of mine_

_He gets me my drinks for free_

_And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke_

_But there's someplace that he'd rather be_

_He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me"_

_As the smile ran away from his face_

_"Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star_

_If I could get out of this place"_

_..._

_..._

_The James Joyce Piano Bar _

_London _

_1975_

_..._

"Will you have another one?", a voice said loudly, obviously in an attempt to get her voice heard over the sonorous echo of the piano.

Tom glanced up, giving Ethel a friendly smile in greeting as she gestured lazily towards his empty pint glass.

Having reminded both him and Kieran of their sister Meadhbh, with her long red hair, boisterous attitude and big dreams, it hadn't been long before the Branson brothers had taken Ethel Parks under a wing as their 'adopted little sister'.

She had been working behind the bar almost as long as Kieran had been in business.

"I'm alright, Ethel", Tom said kindly, preferring not to add more work to the younger woman's already full plate. That was Kieran's job to do as owner and manager of the establishment, not his. "How're you?"

Ethel sighed dramatically, her brief smile running away from her face. "Tom, I believe this is killing me!", she declared, throwing down the cloth that she had had been wiping spilled beer off of tables with.

Tom chuckled at her antics, well used to Ethel's long rants about how one day they would all see her name in lights.

Apparently, the young redheaded fancied herself to be next big 'girl-next-door' actress, taking up the mantel of women like Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn.

"I'm sure that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place!"

Tom laughed good-naturedly, poking fun of her theatrics as he would if she really was his younger sister. "Well, you will be out of this place...when your shift is over."

Ethel rolled her eyes, making an annoyed face at him for a moment.

Obviously, she knew that Tom was only goofing around. After all, he would be the last person to slight her for having hopeful dreams for the future.

But for now, she was here in 'The James Joyce Piano Bar' just like he was...and they may as well make the best of it as their shifts dragged on into the night.

Ethel's scowl suddenly morphed into a mischievous grin...like some ginger Cheshire Cat.

"That's right, my shift will be over in a half hour...and then Sybil will be here, won't she Tom?", she bit back teasingly, her voice adopting a sing-song air, almost as if she was about to burst out into some childish nursery rhyme about Sybil and Tom sitting in a tree...K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Tom felt himself smile involuntarily at the mention of Sybil and berated himself for it.

He was a grown man for god's sake, not a bloody school boy with his first crush.

"Ahh, will ya feck off!"

Ethel smirked triumphantly at the rise she had managed to get out of him and pranced proudly away from the stage, leaving Tom to his thoughts.

In the ten years since he had first come to London, Sybil Crawley had, undeniably, become the closest thing he had to a best friend...leaving aside, of course, the fact that he had been hopelessly and impossibly in love with her almost, if not right, from the moment he met her.

However, it would never be as easy as just asking her...things were a little more complicated than that for them, and Tom respected that...respected Sybil's situation.

Sybil Crawley had first shown up in Kieran's office about four years earlier, unabashedly informing them that she was a single mother who was looking for work as a waitress. Initially, she had kept mostly to herself and that had been all of the details that any of them had known about her for quite some time.

Sybil was early to her job every evening, she worked hard and it hadn't been long before she had all of their customers completely won over with her posh accent, plentiful smiles and quick intellectual banter about whatever happened to be going on that week in parliament.

And Good Lord, they hadn't been the only ones she had totally, completely and effortlessly won over...Tom smiled softly to himself at the thought.

She hadn't even been working with them a month when Kieran first playfully accused his younger brother of being a goner.

As Tom leafed absentmindedly through his sheet music for the next song of the night, eventually deciding on Paul Simon's _Bridge Over Troubled Waters, _he found himself revisiting his first memories of Sybil Crawley

Tom couldn't help but smile as he recalled how his and Sybil's friendship had first started out.

They had initially bonded over their mutual love of politics, chatting away the quieter hours in the bar with lively discussions about The Troubles in Northern Ireland, The Watergate Scandal in the US and even the relatively recent legalisation of the contraceptive pill in the UK.

It was clear from the get go that they were both passionate about their beliefs and like-minded about the changes going on in the world around them.

Their friendship had blossomed from that point on, with both of them slowly opening up to one another about their respective pasts over a lonely drink when the bar closed up.

But hey, it was better than drinking alone!

Tom had told Sybil all about how The Bransons had struggled to keep afloat after their father unexpectedly got a heart attack and passed away at the age of fifty, leaving him and Kieran to step up and help their mam look after the younger ones.

In turn, Sybil told Tom about how she had fallen out with her wealthy and conservative family after returning from her first year of university with rather unexpected news.

She shared with him stories about Larry Grey, her daughter's monumental arse-hole of a father, and how her own father had taken the news of her unplanned pregnancy with an angry roar about how she was ruining her life.

Sybil told Tom that, despite all of the pain she had been through with both Larry and her own family, she didn't regret any of it.

True, life hadn't been easy but she had been given her baby girl..her little daughter who she was determined to make a good life for...even if she had to work her way up from the bottom to do so.

Tom admired her for that, for making the best of her difficult situation, and grew to respect Sybil even more than he already did.

That had been the week when she introduced him to her two year old daughter for the first time.

Adriana Crawley (known affectionately to all as 'Addie'), with her dark little head of curls, bright blue eyes and constant supply of exuberance, curiosity and energy, was undoubtedly her mother in miniature.

And before he could do the slightest thing to prevent it, the little girl had proceeded to capture Tom's heart just as fast as her mother had.

Now four years on, Tom knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything for either of them... for Sybil and Addie.

Even if that meant keeping his mouth shut and remaining firmly fixed in his place as the man who was just their friend.

_..._

_And the waitress is practicing politics_

_As the businessmen slowly get stoned_

_Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness_

_But it's better than drinkin' alone_

_..._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! To everyone who has reviewed and has been reading this story so far. I'll do my best to have the next chapter up tomorrow. **

**But until then, **

**I hope you are all having a really lovely day, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	4. Piano Man

**Better Than Drinking Alone.**

_..._

_la la la, di da da_

_La la, di da da da dum_

_~Billy Joel, Piano Man _

_..._

_..._

_The James Joyce Piano Bar _

_London _

_1975_

_..._

It was nearing closing time when Tom felt her silently slip onto the piano bench beside him.

"Tired, love?"

"Mmmmh."

Without another word, Sybil settled her head into the crook of his neck.

During her shift, locks of curly dark hair had seemingly escaped from the messy bun at the nape of her neck and were now tickling his cheek.

Slowly, he could feel her relax and smile sleepily into his shoulder.

"Can you play me something, Tom?"

"For you, anything", he replied, trying to sound offhanded but failing miserably.

(But he was used to that, used to the startling honesty she brought out in him.)

Tom smiled softly, inhaling the scent of her lavender shampoo as he pecked the crown of her head in a way that he tried convincing himself was purely 'best buddy style'.

So what if his heart always seemed to skip a beat when he was around her?

Surely it didn't matter in the slightest that Tom found himself perfectly understanding, for the first time in his life, what all of those cheesy love songs meant about someone who 'takes your breath away' or makes you feel 'weak at the knees'.

No, Sybil Crawley was his best friend and he was more than happy to be there for her, and that was the extent of it.

Glancing down at her as he started to play (it was one of Billy Joel's more recent numbers), Tom couldn't help but feel concerned when he noticed the crease between her brows and the way her eyes didn't quite meet his.

Something was obviously up, but he didn't ask for details... he only hoped that Sybil would only tell him when she was ready.

So he continued playing, his fingers easily finding the right notes amidst the masses of shiny black and white keys.

The microphone had long since been turned off for the night and he breathed the lyrics into her hair, resisting the urge to shiver when her body curled closer to his.

The song, the one he was playing, had become somewhat of an inside joke between them ever since it had first blown up on the radio back in '73.

Despite herself, Sybil giggled when she recognised the melody and started quietly singing along.

"_Sing us a song you're the piano man_

_Sing us a song tonight_

_Well we're all in the mood for a melody_

_And you got us feeling alright." _

Watching over his shoulder, Tom found himself unable to contain an affectionate smile as he listened to her...slightly off key but happier than she had sounded all night.

It was one of the best sounds he had ever heard...and quickly, he found himself getting lost in the huskiness of her voice as he continued to play.

Sybil chuckled humourlessly as the song came to an end.

"I'm not much of a singer", she told him, almost apologetically...her eyes getting that wistful look that he had come to associate with her thinking of The Crawleys. "That was my sister Mary's forte."

Tom shook his head, unable to contain his honesty on the best of occasions, let alone when Sybil clearly needed cheering up. "You're always wonderful", he told her gently. "No matter what you do."

Sybil lightly squeezed his knee. "Not nearly as wonderful as you, Piano Man."

In response, Tom smiled bashfully, awkwardly looking down to where their legs were touching underneath the piano.

Desperately, he tried to ignore how her comment had made his ears redden, a response that made him feel less and less like the grown man he was...and more and more like the schoolboy that Sybil Crawley was so capable of reducing him to.

These were the moments (the awkward, blush eliciting and tingle inducing moments), that made him wonder if Sybil withheld the same feelings for him that he did for her.

It was a scary, frightening, wonderful, fantastic thought...a thought he tried not to dwell on too much.

The pair sat in silence for few moments, hearing nothing but the quiet hum of street lamps outside and the odd drunken scuffle on the street.

"Are you feeling alright, Syb?"

She sighed decidedly, frustratedly but didn't answer him right away. "It's nothing. I'm probably just being silly."

Tom smiled kindly, slipping back into his dutiful role as her supportive friend...he was comfortable there.

"Believe me darlin', something that's bothering you could never be silly".

Sybil smiled gratefully, her cheeks flushing a little. "My grandmother, my American grandmother...", she amended, seeing his slightly baffled expression.

"...has gotten in touch recently. Apparently my uncle Harold is running for Congress in the next election and he's offered me a job. They're going to pay for my schooling and everything. Grandma says that she's been wanting to get to know Addie for the longest time...probably only because she wants to get one up on my other Granmother though", Sybil added with a humourless laugh.

Tom's eyes widened in surprise and he tried to smile, hoping that it appeared totally genuine despite the sudden dull ache he could feel in his chest.

Sybil was leaving...

He would be happy for her, of course he would, but good god would he miss her...miss both of them, her and Addie.

"And you're going to take it?", Tom asked, already knowing the answer. He could see it in her eyes.

Sybil leaned away from him, her gaze firm, as though she were adamant for him to understand. "I think I'd be a fool not to", she replied. Her voice was cool, definite...logical, as though she had rehearsed this conversation many times before.

"I know I used to say that I wanted to make my own way...but Addie will be seven years old soon and I need to do whatever I can to make sure that she has a bright future ahead of her. "

Tom thought of Addie, Sybil's daughter who could only be described as a total ray of sunshine, that adorable little girl who deserved the whole wide world.

Of course he understood why Sybil was doing what she was doing. If restarting their lives in America was what was best for Addie and for herself, there was no choice in the matter.

So he set his own feelings aside...he'd be happy for her.

"Love, you don't have to explain anything to me", Tom said gently. He reached out and took her hand, vaguely wondering how many more times he would get to do so, and squeezed comfortingly. "Just know that I wish nothing but the best for both of you."

Sybil looked up at him, her determined gaze wavering slightly as she bit her lip, taking in his words.

She tried to stop the tears from coming, but they did anyway...

In that moment, Tom witnessed something shift in Sybil's eyes, eyes that he thought knew so well...but perhaps, he thought, the change he saw so clearly now had been there all along unknown to him.

It was a change that made him feel dizzy and lightheaded, but also made him lament how far their timing had been off.

He could see the same feelings, that same wretched sadness, going unspoken in her.

No words were spoken between them but a story worthy of them was communicated.

...and then she was kissing him.

Tom was completely unprepared.

One would think that after all the hours he had spent with Sybil - watching her talk, laugh and frown - that he would know all there was to know about her lips. But even in his wildest dreams, he had not imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against his own.

Sybil kissed him and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be.

Did it feel like a goodbye?...Tom wasn't so sure despite how his own head so fervently told him that it was.

How could it not be?

Her hand rested below his ear, thumb caressing the scratchiness of his unshaken cheek. As their breaths mingled, Tom ran his fingers down her spine, pulling Sybil closer until there was no space left between them and he could feel the beating of her heart against his chest, quick like a hummingbirds.

Her kisses were, in equal measures, a salvation and a torment.

"Tom", Sybil whispered against his lips, momentarily breaking away.

Her voice was huskier than usual and barely audible. It was almost as though she was afraid, as he was, to break the bubble that they had created.

Tom could taste the saltiness of her tears...or were they his own? He didn't know anymore. He couldn't be quite sure of anything!

All he knew now was that she loved him, just as he loved her...and he was losing both of them...both her and Addie. Yes, It was true that he wanted nothing but the best for them, but the painful reality that he may never see either of them again was still earthshattering.

Nothing could have prepared him for the next words that fell from Sybil's lips...words that fell easily, naturally... words that hesitantly mended the pieces of his breaking heart.

"Tom", she tried again, surer this time. "Come with us."

...

Sing us a song you're the piano man

Sing us a song tonight

Well we're all in the mood for a melody

And you got us feeling alright

~Billy Joel, Piano Man

...

* * *

**A massive thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It really really means a lot to me. Let me know if you liked the conclusion!**

**Also, if AU Tom/Sybil is your cup of tea, I am currently writing a multi-chapter Tom/Sybil and Mary/Matthew Victorian AU, it's called 'I'll be out there somewhere' The first four chapters are already up!**

** I'm also planning a modern/kinda fairytale inspired Tom/Sybil and Mr Carson/Mrs Hughes AU in the next few weeks, so if you want to...I'd be thrilled if you kept an eye out for it. It is gonna be called 'Our Beautiful Fantastic'. **

**Anyways, thank you so much for reading!**

**Hope you all have a really lovely week!**

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


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